


not what it looks like

by halfdesertedstreets



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Endgame PB&J or Bust, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Hilarity Ensues, M/M, Mentions of Lardo/Ransom/Holster, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Polyamory Negotiations, Rom-Com Shenanigans, Shovel talks, idiots to lovers, no homophobia or polyamory-phobia, tbh this fic is so on-brand it felt like I'd already written it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21994579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfdesertedstreets/pseuds/halfdesertedstreets
Summary: Despite how it may look from an outsider’s perspective, it’s not as if Bittyplannedto fake-date hisactual crushin order to help said crush avoid making things awkward with his ex, who he may or may not still have feelings for.It just…sort of happened.(…though to be fair to Kent, Bittyiskind of the one who started it.)--Or, a Fake Dating AU.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 38
Kudos: 442
Collections: Polya Epifest 2019





	not what it looks like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KARIN848](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KARIN848/gifts).



> This fic was written for the lovely, glorious KARIN848 for [ Polya Epifest 2019](https://polya-epifest.tumblr.com/). Karin, hon, thank you for being a wonderful artist, an encouraging friend, and somebody who is always down to squeal over the good ship BittyParse with me. I'm so, so glad you decided to become my friend. You're one of the people I'm grateful to have met in 2019 - may 2020 treat us even better. I hope you like your gift, and find it worthy of your wonderful prompt. <3
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters are not mine; all credit goes to [ngoziu](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com).

* * *

**_not what it looks like_**

* * *

Despite how it may look from an outsider’s perspective, it’s not as if Bitty _planned_ to fake-date his _actual crush_ in order to help said crush avoid making things awkward with his ex, who he may or may not still have feelings for.

It just…sort of happened.

(…though to be fair to Kent, Bitty _is_ kind of the one who started it.)

  
___

How it starts:

At age twenty-two-and-a-half, Eric Richard Bittle moves into Apt. 4515 with his good friends Ransom and Holster. Across the hall is Apt. 4516, home of the neighbor with the unfairly good-looking cats, which Bitty only knows about because said cats are featured on the apartment building’s brochure. Their manager tells Holster when he moves in that, in addition to _their_ promotional materials, these cats are _actual_ cat models, and frequently showed up in _other_ local advertising, too, and wasn’t that just _amazing?_

Holster, being very fond of cats, immediately agreed, and uses this selling point liberally in his arguments that they, the new inhabitants of Apt. 4515, should _also_ get a cat, one that will not only provide companionship and love, but also money through the potentially lucrative and hitherto unconsidered side-hustle of cat modeling.

“No,” Ransom says firmly, for which Bitty is grateful, since he’s more of a dog person himself, but _anyone_ would be susceptible to the many, many kitten photos Holster pulls up to bolster his side of the debate. Not to mention the fact that Holster’s _also_ using his unfortunately effective puppy dog eyes.

(Look, is Bitty kind of a pushover when it comes to his friends? Absolutely, but at least he admits it.)

Holster gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. “But, Ransom—!”

“Just because the building allows pets does not mean we should go out and get one, Holtzy,” Ransom says, fondly exasperated.

“Bro, that is totally what it means,” Holster argues with emphatic conviction.

Ransom rolls his eyes before pointedly turning to Bitty. “Bitty, what do you say? Should we indulge this ridiculous idea—”

“This _genius_ idea,” Holster corrects.

“—or should we remember that between the three of us, we killed off Lardo’s herb garden when she asked us to water it during her semester abroad, and thus shouldn’t be trusted with another living creature, much less a cat?” Ransom says, raising a brow in Bitty’s direction.

Bitty wrings his hands and says, “Um—well—I mean, it’s not like I don’t love cats—”

“Yes, Bitty, you tell him!” Holster says triumphantly.

“—but I think Ransom’s right. We don’t have the best track record for this sort of thing, and, besides, there’s three of us in this apartment. Will the poor cat even have enough room?” Bitty finishes, anxious.

“There are _two_ cats living next door!” Holster argues, gesturing wildly.

Ransom snorts. “Yeah, bro, with _one_ human.”

Holster and Bitty both turn to look at him. “You’ve met our neighbor already?” Holster says, surprised.

Ransom rolls his eyes. “Yes, dude, down at the mailroom.”

“Oh,” Bitty and Holster say.

“He seems pretty chill—invited us over for movie night with the other ‘swawesome people on the floor,” Ransom continues.

Holster blinks. “Yo, is this dude a Wellie, too?” he asks, Bitty nodding to second the question.

Ransom laughs. “Nah, he just heard me use it and immediately started using it, too, the dork.”

Bitty coughs to hide a laugh of his own. “Why, he sounds real sweet. What’s his name?”

“Kent Parson,” Ransom answers.

“Kent Parson,” Bitty repeats, rolling the name along the tip of his tongue. “I like him already.”

In hindsight, that was probably the moment he doomed himself.

___

Bitty doesn’t remember the exact chronology of that first meeting, time smoothing out the crispness of the memory until its edges have been sanded over—

He knows he brought white chocolate macadamia nut cookies because Ransom ate a third of the pie he’d originally planned to bring over, and there wasn’t enough time to make anything besides cookies, and plain chocolate chip seemed…well, a little boring. He can’t remember what Ransom and Holster brought, but he remembers the cookies were all gone by the end of the evening, and Swoops’s girlfriend Mags had asked him for the recipe.

He knows he’d liked the decór, finding it surprisingly homey for an apartment that apparently belonged to a—a sports data analyst? For the local Falconers team? Bitty hadn’t been sure exactly what their host’s job entailed (he definitely didn’t work for a football team, but Bitty was too embarrassed to confirm whether the Falcs were baseball or hockey), only that he sounded like he had a lot in common with Ransom, both of them sharing that particular combination of razor-sharp nerd and friendly jock. So, naturally, the apartment had a gigantic flatscreen t.v., several of the latest gaming systems (Ransom had already gone wild over the motion-capture PS4), and really, really, _really_ comfortable couches. However, there were also a lot of unexpectedly cute touches—cat towers in the corners, D&D-themed coasters on the coffee tables, and a plethora of sports memorabilia and photographs hung on the walls, showing Bitty’s unfairly good-looking neighbor posing with his friends, his coworkers, and what looked to be his family (two blond-haired women with the same chin and the same grin). There were pictures of campfires and brightly-colored tents, snapshots of well-known landmarks from Vancouver to New Orleans, a small collage made entirely of stadium selfies ( _oh, so the Falcs have to be hockey, then_ , Bitty noted), and a series of photos of Bitty’s neighbor next to a dark-haired, blue-eyed, strikingly gorgeous man.

 _Best friend? Or boyfriend?_ Bitty had idly speculated before being pulled from his browsing to the heart of the party.

He knows he met almost everyone in the room _besides_ Kent first—Gopher ambushing them in the hallway and throwing his arms over Ransom’s shoulders, Swoops tugging Mags into his lap so Bitty could sit on the couch, Scraps talking musicals with Holster. The order is hazy, with Bitty unable to remember the exact timeline, but he remembers liking everybody, and wanting everybody to like him in turn, an edge of nervousness to all his interactions until he fled into the safety of the apartment’s kitchen.

Any kitchen is always going to be a corner of safety for Bitty, and it’s here where he first meets Kent—meets him as the last person of the night, meets him right there by the stainless steel sink, the warm ambient light gilding his hair, his cheekbones, his changeable eyes, knows that Kent had been laughing, glancing over his shoulder as he walked in Bitty’s direction before turning around and spotting Bitty standing there.

“Hey,” Kent had said, grin going wide, coming forward with his hand outstretched, looking even better than in the photographs Bitty had been snooping over, looking like the most beautiful thing Bitty had ever seen, ever. “I’m Kent—you must be one of Ransom’s roommates.” He gestured around the room with his free hand, the other grasping Bitty’s firmly. “Uh, this is my place, as you might have guessed, which makes me one of your new neighbors, so—yeah. Welcome to the neighborhood. It’s nice to meet you, man.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Bitty had said as he slid his hand out of Kent’s, feeling breathless, stuttering slightly, his heart-rate climbing against his will. “I’m—Bits—Bitty, I mean, my friends call me Bitty.” He’d made a face, annoyed at how stupid he sounded.

Kent hadn’t minded, just grinned wider. “Bits,” he’d said. “I like that. You mind if I call you Bits?”

Bitty had shaken his head once, twice. He didn’t have it in him to say no to that smile, a rather depressing fact that wouldn’t change much in the coming years, unfortunately for him.

“Cool, cool,” Kent had said. Then, “Hey, do you want to meet my cats? They’re kind of famous.”

“Yes,” Bitty had replied, beaming.

The rest—well, the rest was history.

(The cats are adorable, by the way, and, much like their owner, even better-looking in person, which Bitty did not think was possible, but there you go. It just goes to show.)

___

Flashforward two and a half years:

Kent is—well. Kent is one of his best friends, and his biggest cheerleader, and his fiercest supporter, and simultaneously the coolest _and_ the dorkiest person Bitty knows. Kent is the guy who sends him cat pictures at two p.m. and drunk selfies at two a.m., the guy who’ll start twitter wars over the proper pronunciation of ‘pecan,’ the guy who impulse-bought $500 aviator sunglasses because he thought they looked cool. He’s also the guy who drove out to pick up Bitty at four in the morning when his car broke down and spent the ride back singing to Beyoncé, the guy who let Bitty cry on his couch and take over his kitchen and rant for three hours straight after the ugliest break-up of his life, the guy who accompanied him to seven different thrift shops to help Bitty look for the perfect bookcase, the guy who sheepishly admitted that he’d put Bitty down as one of his emergency contacts and didn’t blink an eye when Bitty had blurted out that he’d done the same.

He’s also the secret love of Bitty’s life, not that Bitty is ever telling him or anyone else that, because that would defeat the whole purpose of _having_ a secret love, thank you very much. Not even Ransom or Holster know, and that’s saying something.

It’s not anything Bitty bargained for in that first meeting, but somewhere in the two and a half years Bitty has known him, Kent has come to take up the largest portion of Bitty’s heart, and he’s come to the sad conclusion that that’s probably not going to change any time soon.

Which is…fine. Bitty will live. Bitty has _been_ living, thriving, actually, doing way better with Kent in his life as his valued, trusted friend than as—as one of those awkward exes who didn’t know a good thing when they had it and went and ruined a perfectly good relationship with _romance._

Bitty knows better than to ask Kent for something he can’t give him, won’t give him, probably has never even come close to thinking about giving him—because if there’s one thing Bitty knows about Kent, it’s that he always, _always_ goes after what he wants.

And if he hasn’t gone after Bitty, even after two and a half years of knowing him, then it’s because he doesn’t want him.

(There’s a series of photographs of a beautiful, dark-haired man on Kent’s mantel—photographs that have never been moved, never even come close to being rotated, unlike almost all the other decorations and knick-knacks in Kent’s home.

Bitty never looks at them, not if he can help it.)

So Bitty takes his love and he bottles it up and buries it, and smiles like he’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted out of life, and most of the time it even manages to feel true.

  
___

And then Bitty goes and ruins his carefully contained personal life by lying and telling his coworkers that he has a boyfriend.

Yes. Not the smartest thing he’s ever done, he’s well aware, _thank you._

___

How _this_ particular fiasco starts:

Liam, a well-meaning but _painfully_ straight coworker of his, keeps trying to set him up with his lone gay friend. After about a month of increasingly frigidly polite evasion, Bitty gets so fed up that he snaps, “No, _thank_ you, Liam, _really,_ but I have a boyfriend already.”

It’s just Bitty’s luck that he says this _right_ as the rest of the break room goes quiet, one of those perfectly timed lulls in the conversation that means that _everybody_ hears him.

“Wait, since when?” Shruti asks, nonplussed.

Bitty resists the urge to smack a hand over his eyes.

 _You idiot,_ he tells himself, exasperated. _Why did you have to go and make things overly complicated?_ “Um, since two weeks back?” Bitty says out loud, scrambling for a believable explanation. “Sorry, it’s kind of new, so I didn’t want to say anything—”

“Oh, sorry, Bittle, I didn’t realize you were taken,” Liam says, chagrined, and Bitty resists the urge to roll his eyes. Oh, so just saying he wasn’t interested wasn’t enough to get him to stop? He has to be ‘taken,’ ugh.

Shruti, thankfully, rolls her eyes on his behalf, then walks over and pulls Bitty aside to their little cohort of work-friends to press him for details.

“Dude, you didn’t tell us you were back on the dating scene again,” Chad from statistical analysis says.

“Yeah! And now suddenly you have a _boyfriend,”_ April says, waggling her eyebrows.

Newsflash: Bitty does _not_ have a boyfriend. What he has is a big, fat lying mouth and zero imagination. He winces. “Well—”

“You must like him a lot, if you guys have already defined the relationship. Like, how long did it take to say that Brian guy was your boyfriend? Two months?” Shruti says.

“Three weeks!” Bitty says, indignantly.

Chad from HR snorts. “Oh, dude, please. It was a month and a half, at _least.”_

“It was _not!”_

“Bro—”

Shruti elbows Chad from HR to get him to stop, proving yet again why she’s Bitty’s favorite coworker. “Anyway, that’s not the point—the point is, give us deets! Who is he? What’s he do? How’d you meet him? What’s he like? When I go home to Lauren, she’s gonna at least wanna know what the guy’s name is.”

Bitty sighs. “Please tell me you’re not gonna come up with another awful couple-name portmanteau. ‘Bribit’ was bad enough.”

“Uhhh,” Shruti says, freezing guiltily.

“Busted,” April says, snickering.

Chad from statistical analysis looks thoughtfully at Bitty. “Seriously, though, bro, what _is_ his name?”

Now it’s Bitty’s turn to freeze. Despite somewhat committing to this falsehood, he hadn’t actually thought ahead far enough to come up with a believably fake name. “Um—”

Shruti frowns. “Wait, you’re seriously not gonna tell us?” she says, a note of hurt in her voice.

“No! Of course I want to tell you, it’s just—”

“Just give us his first name. That way you know Lauren won’t Facebook stalk him or anything,” Chad from stats says sagely.

“Who even has a Facebook anymore?” April says, making a face.

“Lots of people,” Chad from HR says, affronted.

“I promise I won’t use his name for nefarious purposes,” Shruti contributes. “And I won’t let Lauren use it, either.”

“Oh, dude, please don’t tell me your boyfriend is one of those closeted Grindr guys,” Chad from HR tosses in. “You know that’s not gonna—”

“Oh, my God, his name is Kent! I’m dating Kent Parson!” Bitty yells.

 _Oh, my God,_ he thinks right after, horrified. _What the hell did I just do?_

___

Well. Doomed himself, apparently.

___  
  


  
___

___

As much as Kent loves Bitty, he fully admits the guy can be…a little dramatic sometimes, so when Bits comes barging through the door, declaring, “Oh, my god, you have to help me, it’s an emergency!” Kent just looks up from where Purrs is resting on his chest and keeping him pinned down on the couch and says, “What’s the sitch, EB?”

“Oh, god, Kent, I’m such an idiot! It’s awful! I just—how do I get myself into these situations? I have no idea what I did to deserve being this utterly stupid—I’m worse than Holster, I swear to God.” Bitty runs a hand through his hair, helplessly gesturing with the other in a motion that Kent should not find as stupidly hot as he does. But, well, he’s already resigned himself to the weird hand fetish he’s developed for Bitty in particular, so he doesn’t do much more than discreetly ogle him, secure in the knowledge that Bitty will be too busy ranting to notice anything for a solid ten minutes, a knowledge gained from years of prior experience. Kent settles furthers into the couch and keeps scrolling through his phone, prepared to let Bitty work off his steam before contributing anything.

Then Bits says, “Okay, so I’m basically going to owe you for the rest of my life, believe me, but please don’t hate me for this next part—”

“I couldn’t hate you, Bits,” Kent says, absent-minded. The last time Bits informed him that he ought to hate him was when Kit accidentally knocked over the ugly vase Kent’s boss gave him and stained the carpet, so he’s pretty sure he’s got nothing to worry about.

“—okay, that’s great, because I told my coworkers that you’re my boyfriend.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Kent says before the statement really registers with him. Then his brain catches up to his ears, and he sits straight up, dislodging Purrs with a discontented hiss as Kent yelps, “Wait, _what?”_

Bitty groans and covers his face with his hands. “I know, I _know._ I’m an idiot. Please just shoot me now. You’d have every right to,” he moans pitifully. “I’m so sorry, Kent, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“Uh, no, man, that’s—this is fine, dude. We’re chill, we’re good, I totally don’t mind being your fake boyfriend for a bit, just—mind telling me why?” Kent presses, scratching at the side of his head.

Bitty makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “Do you remember Liam?”

 _Did he remember Liam._ “The asshole who keeps saddling you with his share of whatever project you guys are working on?” Kent says, flatly annoyed. He fucking hates Liam, and that is a fact.

Bitty waves a hand dismissively. “I mean, yes, but he’s not so bad, just—ever since he found out I was gay, he’s been trying to set me up with this one guy he knows—”

“And let me guess, he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer,” Kent says, annoyed.

Bitty sighs. “Unfortunately that’s a bit beyond his skill set, yes.”

“Okay, so—you lied and told him you had a boyfriend, and that the boyfriend was me?” Kent says slowly, putting the pieces together.

Bitty stands there and looks at him, wringing his hands anxiously. “In a nutshell, yes.”

“Well, okay—”

“Okay, no, that’s not exactly what happened, I’m sorry. See, I told him that I had a boyfriend, except then _everyone_ went quiet right at that second, like, the room went _dead_ —you know how that happens sometimes? And of course it happened to me, because why wouldn’t it happen to me, I swear to God outside of baking my timing is horrible, it _must_ be karma—anyway, so I only said that to get Liam off my back, but then Shruti and the Chads wanted to know who my boyfriend was—you remember Shruti, she’s the one who’s friends with Ford’s cousin—”

“I know who Shruti is, yes,” Kent says solemnly.

Bitty continues, barely missing a beat, “—oh, good, because I love that woman, she’s honestly a lifesaver, do you know she once—anyway, not the point. So she basically wanted to know my imaginary boyfriend’s name, probably so she could come up with another portmanteau—”

“Wait, you mean when she and her girlfriend came up with that stupid ‘Bribit’ couple name for you and that asshole Brian? ‘Cause that was terrible,” Kent contributes.

“—that _is_ what a portmanteau is, sugar—anyway, I didn’t have a name to give her, because, again, my boyfriend is a figment of my imagination, except I had to come up with some sort of name, and for some reason the only one I could think of at the time was yours,” Bitty finishes, all in a rush.

Kent bites his lip and wills himself not to blush. “Uh. Okay. Well—like I said, Bits, I don’t mind you using my name as your boyfriend.”

“You _don’t?”_ Bitty says, collapsing on the couch next to him. He touches his shoulder. “Honey, are you sure? I don’t mean to be such an imposition—”

“You’re not an imposition,” Kent says firmly. “Any friend would do this for you.”

Bitty wrinkles his nose, clearly doubtful. “I’m not sure _any_ friend would,” he points out.

Kent laughs. “Okay, well, maybe not _anyone_ —but Ransom and Holster would’ve done it in a heartbeat, yeah?”

“Well, yeah, but I wouldn’t want to drag them into this. They’ve only just resolved that whole fiasco with Lardo,” Bitty says, naming the unexpected love triangle that had formed between Bitty’s two best friends/roommates and their apartment building’s resident artist. Kent’s still not quite sure what arrangement the three of them came to, but all of them seem happy and satisfied, and Bitty is no longer stress-baking over the whole thing, so Kent is happy for them. “Besides, I’m sure one of them would be happy to be my fake boyfriend, but April knows both of them, and Shruti knows Lardo, so that wouldn’t be believable.”

“Point,” Kent concedes. Bitty still looks tense, so Kent tugs on his arm and pulls him closer, insistent.

Bitty sighs but goes with it, turning his body so he’s pressed up against Kent’s side, a warm, pleasant, familiar weight. Kent starts running his fingers through Bitty’s hair, just the way he likes, and Bitty presses his face against his collarbones, practically melting.

 _God, I love you,_ Kent thinks quietly, but years of practice mean his mouth doesn’t even twitch when the thought crosses his mind. “Anyway, what _does_ this fake dating business entail? Are we gonna have to come up with backstories? Will there be staged dates? Do I have to dramatically show up at your office, proclaiming that you complete me?”

“Oh, my God,” Bitty says, faintly horrified, but half the romcom blu-rays on Kent’s shelf are ones he recommended, so he’s got no room to talk. “No, Kent, you don’t have to do any of that. I already said that the relationship is new—we started dating two weeks ago, if anybody asks, which nobody will because none of my coworkers have any reason to meet you.”

“Not even Shruti?”

“Shruti would rather mind her own business after accidentally witnessing mine and Brian’s break-up during date-night with her girlfriend, and we’re not going to be fake-dating long enough to drag you to the end-of-the-year holiday party as my plus one,” Bitty answers. He shakes his head. “I’m just going to show them your picture, use you as an excuse to skip out on a few get-togethers, and then act sad and annoyed for a week when we break up in two months’ time.”

“Two months? So soon?” Kent gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “What kind of boy do you take me for?”

“Well, we could’ve done it a week from now to keep in line with your track record, but that seemed a little unbelievable,” Bitty says, sardonic and absolutely ruthless.

Kent bursts out laughing. “Savage,” he declares.

“And don’t you forget it, sweetheart,” Bitty says, smug.

“I would never,” Kent answers.

Bitty looks up at him, and Kent carefully pretends not to notice that if he bent his head down just a little, they’d be at the perfect angle to kiss. “Kent Virgil Parson,” Bitty says, face serious even as his eyes are dancing with mischief, “would you do me the honor of being my fake boyfriend?”

Kent takes Bitty’s hand and places over his own chest. “Why, Eric Richard Bittle, I would love to,” he says in his fakest, most atrocious Southern accent.

Bitty is too busy giggling, the sounds like popping bubbles of joy, to notice how Kent’s heart skips a beat beneath his hand.

___

So, like, Kent has been stupidly in love with Bits for the past year or so, but he’s done a really great job of both ignoring and hiding this fact, to the point where nobody in his life is aware of it other than Swoops, his sister, and his cats, and, really, his cats only found out on accident, so there.

The point is, Bitty himself is blissfully unaware of his feelings, which is great, because that means that whenever he needs a shoulder to cry on or a kitchen to rant in, he always, always comes to Kent, and lets Kent hold him, and pat his back, and murmur soothingly into his hair, and—

Well, Kent gets to be close to him without ever having to worry that he’s going to (inevitably, invariably) fuck it all up and break his heart and basically never, ever see him again, because that’s what he always does. Every single relationship he’s ever been in has ended the same way, and Kent’s aware of the common factor in all of them, thank you very much, and he has no desire to inflict his particular brand of messy, over-the-top, extremely volatile love on Bitty.

(Every time he’s tempted to do otherwise, he remembers Zimms’s eyes the second-to-last time he saw him in person, glassy and wrecked and completely, utterly hopeless, the light in them dimmed by the storm of Kent’s vicious, clawing words.

 _You did that_ , Kent tells himself. _That was_ your _fault,_ you _did that, don’t you_ dare _tell yourself you won’t do the same to Bits if he ever took a chance on your screwed-up ass._

So Kent keeps his mouth shut.)

He’s here to be a wise-cracking neighbor, a great friend, and a would-be uncle to Bitty’s no-doubt clever, hell-raising, and spoiled-sweet future children, and a couple of weeks of being Bitty’s boyfriend on paper aren’t going to change that.

Or, well. That was the plan, at least.

___

How it goes sideways:

Shruti tells her girlfriend Lauren, who tells Ford’s cousin, who tells Ford, who tells Tango, who tells Nursey, who tells Lardo, who tells Ransom and Holster, who show up at Kent’s apartment immediately after they find out, ostensibly to give him a shovel-talk.

“Bro,” Holster says, his hands on Kent’s shoulders, “bro, you know I love you, man, and Ransy and I trust you almost more than anybody else in this entire building—”

Ransom contributes, “So we don’t want you to think that we don’t like and appreciate you in your own right—”

“Oh, my god, guys, please, _please_ stop this,” Bitty says from behind them, both hands plastered over his eyes after he’s given up on trying to haul them out of the narrow little foyer of Kent’s apartment. Apparently they’ve already confronted and forgiven Bitty for his role in this entire thing, but that doesn’t mean _Kent_ is off the hook.

“—but Bitty is like our bro, man, like our real, _actual_ brother, so we have to do this right,” Ransom says.

Holster nods. “We already did this for two of my sisters and one of Ransom’s, so we’ve perfected the drill.”

Ransom nods, too. “We’re practically professionals, bro.”

“You’re practically professional idiots, that’s what you two are,” Bitty mutters darkly.

Kent nods, trying desperately not to laugh in their faces. “I see that, yeah.”

Holster and Ransom beam at him. “Thanks, man,” they say simultaneously.

“Anyway,” Ransom says, “I’m sure you know how it goes—you break his heart—”

“—we break your face,” Holster finishes, slamming his fist against his open palm in a vaguely threatening manner.

“Though we totally acknowledge that we may be called in just to hold you still so Bitty can do his own face-breaking,” Ransom adds.

“And we’re also aware that it’s way more likely he’ll go the poison route, which isn’t as fun, but, again, that’s up to Bitty,” Holster says.

“And, like, no offense, but we also know that Bitty’s the one who’s probably going to do the heart-breaking, so apologies in advance if that happens,” Ransom continues.

“I would not! Oh, my god, whose side are you guys even on!” Bitty says, affronted.

“Yours, obviously, but facts are facts,” Holster says as Ransom nods in agreement.

“These are not facts, these are obviously biased opinions! There’s a fifty percent chance that Kent’s going to do the heart-breaking, I’ll have you know,” Bitty grumbles, pouting.

Kent opens his mouth to argue that it’s a ninety-nine percent chance of it being the opposite, actually, because Kent’s clearly the one who’s head over heels, but he closes his mouth right afterwards because that’s a little _too_ close to the truth.

Ransom and Holster give him distinctly knowing looks before glancing over their shoulders at Bitty. “Bitty, we love you, but no,” Holster says bluntly.

“So, yeah, sorry that we would no longer be able to invite you to video game Fridays, in event of a one-sided break-up,” Ransom says to Kent, grimacing. “Even though we know it’s likely that you’re the one who’ll get dumped. Again, no offense meant.”

“None taken,” Kent says lightly.

“We promise to bring you _tons_ of alcohol to drown your sorrows in, though, because even though Bitty is our main bro, you’re our friend, too,” Holster says firmly.

“Uhh, thanks?” Kent answers, biting at his lip, so he doesn’t snicker, and not much succeeding, from Ransom and Holster’s answering grins.

“Aw, man, can we just get to the fun part now?” Holster asks.

Kent raises a skeptical brow. “Fun part?”

“Sure,” Ransom says, clearly answering Holster and not Kent, because immediately after Holster shouts, “Group hug!” and drags Ransom, Kent, and Bitty into his freakishly long-armed embrace.

Kent laughs his face off at Bitty’s mortified expression.

“Bro, we have legit been wanting to say this for _years_ now, but, like, welcome to the family!” Holster yells enthusiastically from somewhere above them.

Kent lifts a questioning brow at Bitty. “Years?” he whispers.

Bitty blushes and makes a slicing motion at his neck, which Kent takes to mean, ‘don’t ask.’

Kent’s a gentleman, so he doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wonder.

  
___

“I am so, so, _so_ sorry,” Bitty says afterward, wringing his hands.

“It’s fine, Bits,” Kent says, grinning at him reassuringly. “It’s no big deal.”

Bitty bites his lip. “I know, but—I should tell them.”

Kent blinks. “What, and ruin the most fun I’ve had in literal years? Dude, no, let’s just keep going, and when we break up in a couple months, we’ll convince them that our ‘break-up’ was both amicable and mutual.” He puts air-quotes around the word and everything, getting a laugh and an eyeroll out of Bitty.

“Nobody’s going to believe that the break-up was mutual at this rate,” Bitty says, torn between amusement and exasperation.

“Maybe not, but I think I could conceivably play the heart-broken dumpee in this little drama we’ve got going,” Kent says easily.

Bitty shoots him a glance stuffed chock-full of disbelief. “Kent Virgil Parson, like anyone would ever believe _I’m_ the one who’d leave you.”

 _But it’s always me who gets left behind,_ Kent doesn’t say.

“If you say so,” Kent says instead, purposefully filling his voice with light-hearted mirth. Then he changes the subject: “Hey, how much free tequila do you think I can con out of Ransom and Holster at the end of all this?”

Bitty sighs. “A regrettable amount. If you haven’t noticed, my best friends are sadly gullible.”

Kent laughs.

___

Much of the humor of the situation is lost when Swoops, Scraps, _and_ fucking Gopher show up first at Bitty’s door, and then Kent’s when they realize that Bitty is there instead, lounging comfortably on Kent’s couch for their weekly Sunday saltfest.

“Oh, my god,” Kent says, pushing ineffectually at his _former_ best friends’ ridiculously heavy bodies, trying to dislodge them from where they’re currently invading his living room. “Oh, my fucking god, the three of you are _dead_ to me, do you hear me? I’m gonna kill you guys, what the ever-living fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Bitty,” Swoops says solemnly, ignoring Kent completely in a way that makes him want to hiss out loud—and then Kent does, because, honestly, why the fuck not at this point? “You know that we love and respect you—honest to God, Mags thinks you’re one of the best people in this whole damn building—”

“Oh, my god, that’s so sweet,” Bitty interrupts, looking deeply touched. “Tell her I feel the same way.”

“—will do,” Swoops says without missing a beat, “but this asshole right here is our best friend, so as much as we like you, we have to give you the talk.”

“No, you do _not,_ I am a grown fucking man and you should respect my choices,” Kent says, exasperated, placing his hands on his hips.

“We do respect your choices,” Scraps says, placating.

“We don’t respect your choices at all,” Gopher says simultaneously, blunt as ever, “which is the reason why we’re having this talk.”

Bitty giggles before slapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh, my god,” he says, mortified. “I’m sorry, I swear I’m taking this seriously.”

“No, it’s okay, we know this fool here is a joke,” Gopher says, pointing at Kent, “but, like, we trust you to laugh at him nicely, because he’s _our_ joke.”

“And now he’s your joke, too,” Scraps contributes, then pauses. “Not that he wasn’t before, but it’s official now.”

“What the hell, you never did this with any of my other significant others!” Kent says, flailing.

“Yeah, because we knew from day one that there was nothing significant about them,” Swoops says, matter-of-fact in a totally callous and cold-hearted sort of way.

“But Bitty’s different,” Gopher says, nodding sagely, and Kent’s heart drops right through the floor.

“Oh, my god,” Kent says, not liking where this is going one _fucking_ iota, “you fuckers, don’t you fucking dare—”

“So we’re here to ask you to be gentle with him,” Swoops says inexorably, _“because_ you’re different.”

Kent slaps his hands over his face. “You absolute shitheads. I am never letting you inside this apartment again, do you hear me? You are all persona non grata from this moment on.”

Sadly, no one in the room pays him any attention whatsoever.

“We like you, jefe, but this idiot’s track record is a hot mess,” Gopher says earnestly to Bitty. “And even before you started dating him, this guy was over the moon for you—”

 _“Lies,”_ Kent says desperately. “These are complete and utter lies—pure fabrications—delusions brought on from being dropped on their heads too many times as babies—”

“So we know this is kinda early and everything, but, like, for the sake of all of our friendships, we’re asking that you go easy on him. We’re not saying to let all of his fuck-ups slide, of course, but—just—just be good to him, you know? He’s a lot more fragile than he lets on,” Swoops finishes.

“I am _not,”_ Kent says, his heart zooming up from the floor and lodging itself in his throat instead. “You lying fucking liars.”

Bitty clasps his hands together and looks up at Kent’s three awful, no-good, definitely-on-his-hit-list ex-friends. “I promise that I’ll take good care of him for as long as he’s in my keeping,” he says solemnly, looking for all intents and purposes as if he’s one hundred percent serious.

Kent’s breath feels like it’s been knocked right out of him. “Oh,” he says, sounding small and shocked.

Swoops, Scraps, and Gopher just grin at Bitty. “Good,” Scraps says, satisfied. “That’s all we ask.”

“Knew we could count on you, jefe,” Gopher adds. Then, “Now, since I’ve got money riding on this, can you confirm that it was in fact you who asked this damn fool out, and not the other way around? ‘Cause if he hasn’t asked for the last two years, then there is no way he did the asking now.”

“Hey!” Kent says, blushing furiously.

Bitty grins. “Oh, you sweet summer child,” he says, that affably vicious tone in his voice that always makes Kent’s knees weak, “was that ever even in doubt? Of _course_ I did the asking.”

“Ha! Knew it!” Gopher declares triumphantly.

“Oh, my god, just get out of my house already,” Kent says, groaning, his hands once again over his face.

“We’re going, we’re going,” Swoops says, dragging the other two to the door with him, peaceable now that he’s gotten what he’s wanted, the bastard. See if Kent ever lets him near his cats again.

“Have fun on date-night!” Scraps calls over his shoulder in one last dig.

“Hey!”

  
___

“Okay, so, like, eighty percent of what they said was untrue. Obviously,” Kent says afterward.

Bitty grins at him. “I know, sugar,” he says, teasing. “I’m well-aware that I’m very important to you as one of your very good friends.”

Kent laughs, nervous. “Friends. Yeah. Definitely. After tonight, you’re definitely even my best friend, considering there’s a sudden vacancy for the spot.”

Bitty’s eyes soften. “Oh, sugar—as fun as that was for me, you _do_ know that they were just looking out for you, right?”

Kent groans, throwing his head back against the couch. “They’ve got a funny way of showing it,” he mutters.

“I thought it was sweet,” Bitty says, defending the indefensible, in Kent’s obviously correct and unbiased opinion.

Kent makes a face. “Whatever. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know,” Bitty says, indulgent.

“I _can,”_ Kent insists.

Bitty’s eyes briefly flicker over Kent’s shoulder, looking at the mantel above the fake fireplace where Zi—where _those_ pictures are.

Kent’s heart sinks back to the floor.

“I know,” Bitty says, quieter this time. Then he shakes his head. “Anyway, don’t you worry your pretty little head over this. None of anything that was said tonight changes how I feel for you, and it certainly doesn’t jeopardize anything about our friendship. Okay?”

“Okay,” Kent says. Then, “I’m still banning Swoops for the next month, though, the asshole.”

Bitty smiles at him, delighted. “Why not Gopher and Scraps?”

Kent snorts. “Because _obviously_ he was the mastermind behind all this—”

Kent launches into a petty, pouting tirade, and pretends he isn’t replaying Bitty’s promise to his friends over and over again in his head.

He knows Bits didn’t mean it. He _knows._

___

Kent’s not quite sure what it says about him and Bitty that they barely have to change their routine to convince their closest friends and neighbors that they’re dating—Kent hasn’t even had to kiss Bitty on the mouth in public to sell this goddamn relationship, like, what the actual fuck? Are all of their friends that oblivious, or are he and Bitty just that good at acting?

Kent likes to think it’s the latter, but honestly all this has been doing is lowering his opinions of their friends’ observational skills.

Like, hardly anything changes. Sure, there’s a bit more hand-holding, and Bitty stays the night a little more often, but there’s a guestroom that was basically already Bitty’s, and several pet names that were already exclusively used for Kent, and apparently just glancing at each other from across the room like they _already always do_ is enough to have Holster yelling, “Fine!”

“We weren’t even doing anything!” Bitty yells back, outraged.

“Not true! Making googly eyes at each other from across the room absolutely counts!” Ransom declares.

“Yep. Totally,” Lardo agrees, adding the not-inconsiderable weight of her opinion on the matter.

Kent and Bitty lose that round, unfortunately.

___

Carrie calls:

“Congrats on finally landing the love of your life, bro,” she says without preamble.

_“What.”_

“C’mon, you know I follow Bits on Insta, right?”

“Oh, my god, _please_ tell me you haven’t told Mom.”

Carrie just cackles, the little monster.

___

“She told our mother!” Kent says indignantly, waving his hands where he’s standing in Bitty’s living room.

“Bro, even I saw that one coming,” Lardo says, completely unhelpfully.

“I can send her a pie if she’s upset,” Bitty offers, apologetic. “You know your mother loves my pies.”

“She’s _planning the wedding,_ Bits.”

Bitty blinks, owl-like. “Oh. Um. Maybe some fudge, too, then.”

Kent just tugs on his hair and screeches.

  
___

Okay, beyond that particular fiasco, Kent has to admit that having a steady fake-boyfriend is kind of nice. Like, he has an excuse to spend even _more_ time with Bits, and honestly he’s missed the trappings of dating: the fun nights out, the comfortable nights in, the way people ask him about Bitty and assume he’s got the answers—

Yeah, he could definitely get used to this. Like, he knows it’s all fake, of course, but why shouldn’t he have fun while it lasts, right?

Right?

___

“Is it bad that this fake dating thing is so much fun? Like, am I a horrible person for thinking that lying to all of our friends and acquaintances is the most entertaining thing I’ve done all year?” Bitty asks him when he’s sprawled in his favorite chair, Kit purring contentedly in his lap.

Kent snaps a photo and posts it to his Instagram, captioning it with a series of heart emoticons in different shades of the rainbow. “Dude, no, because that would make me a horrible person, too, since I am also having a ton of fun, and I am not a horrible person. Ergo, _you_ are not a horrible person.”

Bitty snorts. “Alright, so horrible people it is.”

“Babe, I am _offended,”_ Kent says, then freezes. It’s just them, no one else in this apartment, nobody to fool, trick, or otherwise misdirect, but there he goes, calling his best friend babe like he’s pathetically in love with him.

(Well, he _is,_ but Bitty isn’t supposed to know that.)

“Uh-huh. You tell yourself that, sugar,” Bitty says, and Kent relaxes.

He didn’t notice. Awesome.

___

(Fun fact: Bitty did, in fact, notice. Spent that night mouthing the word to himself over and over before falling asleep in Kent’s guest bedroom, wishing he was either stupid enough or courageous enough to walk down the hall and make this whole pretend fantasy into reality.

“You idiot,” Bitty tells himself, completely unaware that a few dozen feet away, Kent’s doing the exact same thing.)

___

Then a few weeks in:

“You gonna take those pictures down soon?” Swoops asks in a tone so casual that it’s transparently fake.

Kent wrinkles his nose in confusion before following his gaze and abruptly freezing. Swoops is looking at the mantel.

Kent swallows. “No,” he says, stubborn. “It’s just three pictures, man. There’s a fuck-ton of other photos in this house. It’s not a big deal.”

Swoops sighs. “When Bitty dumps your stupid ass, please don’t come crying to me.”

Kent shoves at him. “Fuck off,” he snarls.

“Bro,” Swoops says, suddenly serious, “you know he’s never going to ask you. This is _Bitty._ He hates doing anything that hurts you, always has. But you should think about it, because someday it’s gonna start hurting him, and it’s probably gonna be sooner rather than later.”

 _Well, joke’s on you, because we’re not even dating for real,_ Kent thinks, viciously annoyed. “We’ve been dating for barely a month,” Kent says out loud, flat.

“Been in love with him for about a year, though,” Mags contributes, walking by.

Kent’s mouth drops open. “You told her!” he says, pointing at Swoops accusingly.

“Oh, Kent,” Swoops says pityingly.

“Fine!” Kent says. “I’ll move the damn pictures! But I bet he won’t even notice.”

“You tell yourself that,” Swoops says, ignoring the way Kent sticks his tongue out at him.

  
___

Bits notices.

“You—you didn’t have to do that,” he says, stammering. “Sugar—you know I’d never—”

“I just put them in my bedroom,” Kent interrupts.

Bitty blinks. “Oh. Good. That’s—good. I know he’s important to you.”

 _Not as important as you,_ Kent thinks, but even he doesn’t know if that’s strictly honest.

 _You’re as important as him,_ Kent thinks, and that—that sounds closer to true.

He doesn’t say either statement, just asks Bitty if he wants to use date-night to get out of attending the birthday party Liam the asshole is throwing for himself.

“Absolutely,” Bitty says, grateful.

“Coolios,” Kent says.

Neither of them mention the pictures again.

  
___

Kent notices that Bits is careful to never say Zimms’s name, even though he knows it, even though Kent told him himself, spilled bits and pieces of the story out to him the actual last time Kent saw Zimms in person, about a year back.

Kent had traveled clear across the continent with a bunch of idiotic hopes and ridiculous daydreams in his head, and came back with nothing to show for it except rug-burn on his knees and hickeys on his neck and Zimms’ stupidly big handprints all over his hips, and an awkward, stilted promise to try and be friends again, which both of them have more-or-less kept by being Facebook mutuals and sending each other occasional congratulatory texts. Christ, Kent interacts more with _Bitty’s coworkers_ than he does with Zimms, but it’s better than the radio silence of the years preceding that, so he’ll take what he can get—

_—not good enough, never good enough, not even with years of therapy and actual friends and a stable career and coping mechanisms that don’t involve finding every weak spot in the armor of the people he loves and ripping them apart at the seams before they have the chance to do it to him—_

—anyway. Kent may have been…not doing so well in the days immediately after his return, and been…slightly more honest with Bitty than he’d originally planned when his friend came to check up on him. ‘Slightly more honest’ being a euphemism for ‘got drunk and sobbed on his shoulder in frustrated tears, convinced he would never find love again.’

Joke’s on him, then, ‘cause he fell in love with Bits the second he put the shattered pieces of his heart in Bits’ hands, and watched him hold each fragment as if they were the most precious things he’d been given, instead of so much useless trash.

 _You’re alright, sweetheart,_ Bits had whispered, hands gentle on Kent’s hair, tender against the small of his back, _you’re going to be just fine, sugar. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go._

Kent had listened to him, and believed.

It wasn’t exactly _the_ start of them, but it was _a_ start, and Kent didn’t forget.

___

They’re about one week away from their agreed-upon fake relationship expiration date, the two of them lazily arguing over who gets to be more broken-up about the break-up, and whether or not they can get away with a two-week recovery period—Bitty thinks yes, Kent thinks they’re safer taking more time and putting Sunday saltfest temporarily on hold, unless they want to actually come clean and tell everyone they were fake-dating—

—when Jack Zimmermann gets traded to the Providence Falconers.

Kent more-or-less freaks out about it, to say the least.

  
___  
  


___

  
___

How it starts, take two:

Carrie sends Bitty a worried, cryptic text near the end of the work day.

**Carrie the MVP [4:32 p.m.]**

_Yo bits you seen the news??_

**Bitty [4:32 p.m.]**

_???_

**Carrie the MVP [4:33 p.m.]**

_Jack Zimmermann got traded to the Falcs_

**Bitty [4:33 p.m.]**

_!!_

**Carrie the MVP [4:33 p.m.]**

_yeah no shit. you know if Kent’s doing okay?_

**Bitty [4:33 p.m.]**

_I’m on my way home._

**Carrie the MVP [4:34 p.m.]**

_Oh thank god I don’t know what he’d do without you_

**Carrie the MVP [4:34 p.m.]**

_Tell him i’m telling him not to freak out_

**Carrie the MVP [4:34 p.m.]**

_(btw i’d wish you luck, but i know you don’t need it. Kent’s stupid in love with you. you’ve got nothing to worry about re:jack)_

  
Bitty doesn’t reply after that, but her statement stays lodged in the forefront of his brain when he comes hom—when he gets to Kent’s apartment and finds his friend pacing the length of the living room like a tiger trapped in a cage.

“Oh. Hi, Bits,” Kent says the second he catches sight of him, pulling on a fake smile that tugs at Bitty’s heartstrings like nothing else.

“Oh, sugar,” Bitty says, helpless, dropping his bag to the floor and walking forward with his arms wide open. Thankfully, Kent doesn’t fight him, just lets Bitty hold him close and pull his head down, tension whooshing out of him as he mashes his face against Bitty’s shoulder.

“So, you heard the news, huh,” Kent says, trying for wry humor and not quite hitting the mark.

Bitty winces. “Yeah. Um, Carrie sent me a text.”

Kent sighs. “Figures. She always was a tattle-tale.”

 _“Kent.”_ Bitty rolls his eyes, exasperated, not that Kent can see.

“What? She is!” Kent protests, his words muffled against Bitty’s shoulder, though his petulant tone comes across loud and clear.

Bitty bites his lip. “Oh, sugar,” he repeats, and feels Kent shudder against him.

“‘m fine. She shouldn’t have told you,” he insists.

“But—”

“It’s not like I’m going to have an epic breakdown the second I catch sight of Zi—of Jack. We’re Facebook mutuals, I interact with the guy on a regular basis,” Kent argues.

Bitty snorts. “Liking photos he posts of dogs he encounters on his morning runs does not count as regular interaction.”

“Does so,” Kent says petulantly.

“Even so,” Bitty says after a beat, “I don’t like how—”

Kent pushes away from him, rearing back in one swift, jerky movement, arms flailing once he’s free. “There’s nothing to worry about! I’m not—I’m not the same guy I was three years ago. He and I are over, I know that, okay? You don’t have to—I’m not going to turn into a psycho stalker ex just because he’s playing on the team I work for.” He huffs out an anxious breath, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

Bitty watches him with narrowed eyes, and bites down on his lip in thought. “I know that, honey,” he says carefully. “I’m not—I don’t think you’d let that happen. It’s just—” He flounders, unsure of what to say. “—I just don’t like seeing you upset. And this is upsetting you.”

“I’m not upset!” Kent insists.

Bitty just levels him with an incredulous look.

“…okay, I’m a little upset.” Kent closes his eyes and sighs. “Ugh, why the fuck did the Falcs decide to trade Bergeron for _him?”_

Bitty rolls his eyes, the topic of several of Kent’s recent Sunday saltfests coming to mind. “Well, you _did_ say we needed a stronger offensive player, and you have to admit that Bergie wasn’t putting up the points—”

“Please don’t use my own data compilation against me,” Kent says, cutting him off, but Bitty can see the small, involuntarily amused smile tugging at his lips, and counts it a victory.

Bitty sighs theatrically. “Undone by your own genius—who would have guessed?”

Kent laughs, and Bitty takes him by the wrist and tugs him toward the kitchen. “C’mon, honey, let me feed you up. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”

Kent wraps his hand around Bitty’s, and follows.

  
___

Bitty insists on postponing the break-up.

“Bits—”

“Kent, the timing is going to look awful if we do this as planned, and I am _not_ fine with playing jilted little lover,” Bitty says implacably, crossing his arms.

“That’s not what it’ll look like,” Kent says weakly.

Bitty raises a brow.

Kent groans. “Fine. But let it be said that _I’m_ not the one who asked you to be this—this self-sacrificing martyr. You know everybody’s gonna be on your ass, making sure that _you’re_ making sure that I’m fine when that’s not even your job.”

“Of course it’s my job,” Bitty says evenly. “You’re the one who put me down as your emergency contact, remember? And this _definitely_ counts as an emergency.”

Kent stares at him for a second before letting out a bark of laughter. “Guess so.” He rubs a hand tiredly over his face. “I dunno, Bits, I just—I don’t want it to be this huge, awkward thing. Like, we used to be _actual_ friends, you know? Zi—Jack and I. And honest to God, that’s the thing I miss most, most days. Being his friend, instead of being the clingy ex who didn’t know when to let go.”

 _I’d_ never _have let you go,_ Bitty thinks fiercely before he tamps down on the feeling. Not the place, not the time. “Well, his loss,” Bitty says, purposefully blithe and cheerily upbeat. “God knows _I_ love being your friend. Comes with a whole lot of perks, like knowing the most famous cat models in all of Providence.”

“Ha. I knew you were only in it for the celebrity fame,” Kent jokes.

Bitty smiles at him and pretends he’s not lying through his teeth when he tells him, “Well, duh. Not like I’d stick around otherwise if I didn’t get my weekly cat cuddles.”

  
___

Ransom and Holster corner Bitty in Lardo’s studio, which he thinks is deeply unfair considering he can’t just run out on her to avoid her two idiotic boyfriends.

(When they’re being this annoying, Ransom and Holster are Lardo’s problem first. Bitty washes his hands of the matter, and that’s that.)

“Bro, are you okay?” Holster asks.

“Yeah, do you need us to give the talk to Zimmermann?” Ransom says.

Bitty splutters, “The _talk?_ What kind of talk are you talking about?”

Holster pantomimes punching somebody. “You know, the ‘we’ll beat you up if you try to steal our friend’s man’ talk.”

“Oh, my god.” Bitty resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. Patience doesn’t come, alas. He settles for shooting a glare at his best friends. “No, you idiots, I do _not_ need you to give Jack Zimmermann ‘the talk,’ because he couldn’t steal my boyfriend even if he wanted to.”

Lardo whistles from where she’s painting a portrait of his hands—a commission for Kent, apparently, though Bitty suspects it’s just an excuse to give her money and let Bitty hang out with her while she’s at it, because why the hell would Kent want a painting of Bitty’s _hands_ of all things?

“You tell ‘em, Bits,” Lardo says approvingly.

“Lards, we’re being serious,” Holster whines.

“So’s Bitty,” Lardo counters. “It’s his and Kent’s business, you two.”

“Which totally makes it our business,” Ransom argues, “or did Bitty not give you the talk when you started dating us?”

“Kinda, but he sure as hell didn’t threaten Camilla when she visited last month,” Lardo points out.

Holster and Ransom digest that for a bit. “Point,” they simultaneously concede.

“I dunno, it’s just—well, it’s Kent Parson and _Jack Zimmermann,”_ Ransom says.

Holster nods. “There’s fanfiction about them, bro.”

Bitty blinks, surprised. “There is?”

“Yeah, there’s this one coffeeshop AU—” Holster catches sight of Lardo’s expression and abruptly backtracks. “—which, uh, hasn’t updated since 2013 and is obviously no longer relevant.”

Bitty raises a brow at his friends, keeping his hands primly folded so he doesn’t ruin Lardo’s composition. “Well, I should hope not, seeing as how Kent’s awful at making coffee.”

Ransom, Holster, and Lardo all laugh, and Bitty laughs, too, ignoring the little spike of worry in his gut.

 _For God’s sake, Kent isn’t even your real boyfriend. This is none of your business,_ Bitty tells himself sternly.

His heart doesn’t get the memo, unfortunately.

  
___

“Sorry, bro,” Ransom says sheepishly, after. “We just—we worry for you.”

Holster nods. “Yeah. We know Kent means a lot to you, and…well…”

“Zimmermann used to mean a lot to Kent,” Bitty acknowledges. “It’s not like I don’t know exactly what would go down on my Moo Maw’s favorite afternoon soap opera if a situation like this popped up, so I get your concern.”

“Yeah, well, we shoulda known that Kent would never trap you in a marriage of convenience and then abandon you after his old flame comes back into the picture, leaving you to fake your death in a dramatic attempt to get him back,” Holster says, nodding seriously.

Bitty nearly chokes on his laughter.

“Hey! _Trapped by the Law_ is a great soap opera!”

“Bro, it’s trashy as fuck,” Ransom says, throwing an affectionate arm over both Holster and Bitty’s shoulders.

“That’s what I said!”

___

What Bitty knows about Jack Zimmermann can fit on a postcard:

He’s a professional hockey player, formerly with the Las Vegas Aces, now newly traded to the Providence Falconers.

He and Kent met in the junior hockey league, playing for the same team—even won a trophy together.

Zimmermann went first in the draft; Kent didn’t go at all, too busy recovering from a car accident that left his left leg badly fractured.

Zimmermann has dark hair, blue eyes, and three photographs that used to permanently live on Kent’s mantel and have since moved to somewhere in his bedroom.

He’s the love of Kent’s life.

The reverse cannot be said to be true, much to Bitty’s complete and utter bewilderment, but it just goes to prove the last fact on Bitty’s list:

Jack Zimmermann is a goddamn idiot.

___

Bitty comes home—Bitty arrives at Kent’s apartment one day to find his fake boyfriend lying facedown on the floor, both his cats curled up on his back.

“Hi, there, sweethearts,” Bitty says affectionately, patting all three of their heads before heading to the kitchen.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s the matter?” Kent demands.

Bitty snorts. “Why ask when I’m sure you’ll tell me yourself if I just wait you out, you drama king?”

Kent huffs but doesn’t deny it. He goes quiet for a bit, then admits, “I may or may not have accidentally invited Jack Zimmermann to dinner on Friday, and he may or may not have accidentally accepted, and I may or may not have told him that I already have a boyfriend to make it sound less like I was asking him for a booty call.”

Bitty drops the squash he was washing. _“What?”_

  
___

When the story comes out, Bitty can’t say it isn’t keeping extremely in character for Kent, who basically fell back into old habits and tried to flirt his way out of a stressful situation only to have it backfire on him and land him an even _more_ stressful situation.

Bitty can’t say he’s _pleased_ about it, but considering how he’s the one who got them into the fake dating scenario in the first place, he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on.

So he agrees to the dinner date, but insists on having it be in the apartment and cooking himself.

If he’s going to be meeting the infamous Jack Zimmermann in person, he’d rather it be on his own turf.

  
___

On Friday, everything that could possibly go wrong does. Just Bitty’s luck.

First, Liam accidentally spills coffee on his shirt at work. Then Bitty spends an hour on the phone trying to requisition the supplies he and Shruti need for the project launch next month. Then his phone dies and nobody has a charger to spare. Then after work he gets stuck in traffic on the way to the grocery store. Then the grocery store is jam-packed with people for the Presidents’ Day weekend sale that Bitty completely forgot about. Then the handle on one of his reusable bags breaks. Then somebody parked in his damned assigned parking spot when he gets home. Then the elevator out of the garage is out of commission for a day. Then Bitty has to lug three bags of groceries up the stairs to the front of his building. Then he’s too busy making sure he doesn’t fall flat on his face and/or drop everything to notice that there’s somebody standing in the foyer squinting at the directory and runs right into them.

“Oh, my God, I am so sorry! I didn’t even see you there! Are you okay?” Bitty says, clutching his groceries desperately as he takes a few steps back.

“I’m fine,” the stranger says, and Bitty looks up and finally gets a good look at him.

 _Oh, goodness,_ Bitty thinks, trying not to blush.

While he’s pretty much accepted that Kent Parson has ruined him for other men, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have eyes, and his libido _certainly_ appreciates the chiseled features and gorgeous body of Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome. The clear blue eyes and sheepish grin aren’t helping matters, either, though Bitty swears to God he looks vaguely familiar—

“Uh, would you—would you like some assistance?” the stranger offers politely, startling Bitty out of his discreet ogling session.

Bitty shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine!”

This is, of course, the moment the other handle of one of his reusable bags breaks and sends a third of his groceries crashing to the floor.

Bitty closes his eyes and counts to ten, then counts to ten again for good measure. “Fuck my life,” he says fervently, and the stranger laughs, a tinge of surprise to the sound. When Bitty opens his eyes, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome is clearing his throat and trying to hide his grin, though not succeeding much. “Go ahead, laugh at me—today has _clearly_ proved that my life is one big cosmic joke.”

“Bad day?” the stranger says, sympathetic.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” Bitty says with a sigh, smiling wryly. “I’d rather not get into it without a glass of wine in hand, but suffice to say that my day has been one small disaster after another—you know, it’s not even that the whole thing has been a wreck, but that every little thing that could go wrong does? It’s like being hospitalized for a few dozen papercuts.”

“I know the feeling,” the stranger says, sincere. He kneels down and puts the spilled items back into the fallen grocery bag, then picks the whole thing up. “Which floor?” he asks, hand hovering over the elevator buttons.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Bitty cuts himself off at the stranger’s look of gentle amusement, and clears his throat. “Fourth floor, please and thank you.”

“Fourth floor it is.”

They spend the brief elevator ride making polite conversation, Bitty talking about the funnier mishaps of his day, the stranger revealing that he’s here to visit a friend of his, and part of Bitty can’t help but hope he ends up visiting this friend more regularly.

Bitty doesn’t even realize that he hasn’t gotten the stranger’s name until Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome pauses at the thresh-hold, causing Bitty to look back and see that he’s looking intently at the apartment number on the door, brows furrowed in thought.

“I’m so sorry! Here, let me just put these groceries down and I’ll get that last bag from you,” Bitty says—of course his new acquaintance would be uncomfortable gallivanting into a stranger’s home. Goodness’ sake, this wasn’t even Bitty’s place, but Kent’s, not that Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome knew that. Still, the point stands; Bitty makes his way towards him, hands outstretched for the grocery bag, when the helpful stranger turns to him and abruptly asks, “Are you Eric Bittle?”

Bitty blinks. “Uh, well, yes,” he says, surprised. “But, please, call me Bitty—everybody does.”

The stranger nods, a quick, jerky motion as he glances at the pictures on the shelf dividing the foyer from the living room, Bitty prominently featured in several of the photos. “Nice to meet you, Bitty,” he says, his clear blue eyes finally focusing on Bitty’s face, strangely intent. He holds out a hand, the other still resolutely clutching the bag of groceries. “I’m Jack Zimmermann.”

Only years of having polite manners drilled into him manages to keep the smile from sliding right off of Bitty’s face, but he’ll be honest, it’s a near thing.

  
___

Once Bitty’s phone is charged, Kent’s frantic messages warning him that Kent would be late and Jack would be early finally reach Bitty, far, far too late to do any of them any good, but no use crying over spilled milk.

So Bitty rallies, pulls on his politest smile, and proceeds to instruct Jack to have a seat, make himself comfortable, and, no, under no circumstance will Bitty be letting him into the kitchen to assist with anything, thank you very much.

“Like my Moo Maw would ever forgive me for putting a guest to work on his first visit,” Bitty says with a small chuckle.

Jack raises a brow. “I assume you save the free labor for the second visit, then?”

Bitty gasps theatrically, putting a hand over his heart. “Mr. Zimmermann! Of course not!”

“Oh?”

Bitty smirks at him. “Any host worth his salt would’ve secured a visit to his guest’s house before that, obviously.”

Jack laughs, and Bitty tries and fails not to notice how attractive he looks while doing so.

 _So this is the man that Kent’s in love with,_ he thinks, melancholy squeezing his heart tightly.

They spend the better part of an hour trading light banter, Jack alternating between deadpan humor and overly serious reactions to Bitty’s teasing, and once they run out of the usual small talk topics of the weather, their respective jobs, and the minutiae of the day, conversation inevitably turns to the one thing they do have in common:

“So,” Jack asks, “how long have you and Parse been dating?”

Bitty wrinkles his nose. “I’m sorry, who?” he asks, before Kent’s former hockey nickname flashes through his mind. “Oh! Oh. Um, we’ve been dating for three months now,” he says hurriedly, blushing over his mistake; Kent’s always been just Kent to him.

Jack frowns, something about the expression faintly disapproving, and part of Bitty bristles in reactive affront. “That’s a little fast,” he says, eyes glancing around the apartment.

“I beg your pardon?” Bitty says frostily.

Jack freezes, catching on to Bitty’s displeasure. “Uh—I meant—sorry, that sounded worse than I intended. I just meant—from what Parse told me about you, I thought you guys had been dating for longer. And normally he—well, I know he can be impulsive, but two months is a little fast to move in with somebody, even for him.”

Bitty blinks, thrown off-balance. “Oh! Oh, that’s because—I don’t actually live here, I just have a key—my place is right across the hall, actually, and—and that’s how we met, in fact! I moved in two years ago, see, and we’ve been friends and neighbors ever since, so—it’s not like he just jumped into bed with me, Kent’s a very responsible person—”

“Kent is responsible?” Jack interrupts, sounding incredulous, before jerking back and shaking his head. “I mean—of course he’s responsible, I’m not denying that. He’s one of the best guys I know. It’s just—”

Bitty bites his lip, amusement welling up in him as he watches Jack flounder. “It’s just that he’s a textbook example of a disaster bi, huh?”

Jack frowns, but this time Bitty can tell it’s an expression of confusion, not disapproval. “Huh?”

Bitty shakes his head. “It’s a meme—don’t mind me. But I get what you mean. Kent’s—spontaneous.”

Jack nods, relieved. “Yeah, he doesn’t always think things through.” He looks down at his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound prying. Just—trying to get a better sense of him, and I know it’s not my place anymore to watch out for him, but—”

Bitty waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Three days after it got out that we’d started dating, half his closest friends gave me the shovel talk. I should’ve figured you were cut from the same cloth—Kent always did inspire loyalty.”

“Yeah,” Jack says softly.

They go back to safer topics after that.

___

When Kent comes home, he pries off his shoes and lines them up by the wall with a little less care than he usually does, shrugging out of his jacket right afterward and awkwardly making his way into the apartment.

“Hey,” he calls out, eyes right on Bitty as he stumbles toward him, “hey, I’m sorry I’m late—Jackson was being a fucking tool—do you need me to get anything?”

“No,” Bitty says, warmth in his belly as Kent runs a hand down his arm, turning his face up in welcome. “I’ve got everything covered.”

Kent grimaces. “Gotcha. Uh, Jack should be arriving any second—I tried texting him, but he hasn’t been replying.”

“Oh,” Bitty says, eyes going wide, “oh, um, actually—”

“Hi, Parse,” the man himself says from his seat on the couch, Purrs perched contentedly in his lap.

Kent jumps about a foot in the air, which Bitty should not find as funny as he does, but he never claimed to be a saint. “Jesus!” Kent yelps. “Warn a guy, will you, Jack?”

“Sorry,” Jack says, amused. “Figured you’d have noticed the trainers at the door. You always were so anal-retentive about shoes in the house.”

Kent turns around, eyes drawn to the bright yellow sneakers lying neatly placed by the shelf. “Oh, my god, how the fuck did I miss those monstrosities?” he says blankly before turning to Bitty. “It’s not too late, you know,” he says earnestly. “I could always kick him out.”

Jack laughs, Kent grins, and Bitty musters up a smile from somewhere and doesn’t take him up on his joking offer.

  
___

Dinners with Jack become a regular thing. As do lunches, texting threads, snapchat streaks, and Kent’s repeated use of the phrase, “And then Jack said—”

And it’s not as if Bitty didn’t see this coming. It’s not as if Bitty doesn’t understand _why._ Jack is funny, and smart, and sweet, and kind of exactly Bitty’s type, if he’s honest about it—their similar taste in people is a part of what helped Bitty and Kent bond, all those years ago. Hell, Bitty has to actively remind himself that Jack is firmly off-limits for a dozen different reasons, most of them starting and ending with Kent Parson.

It’s just hard, is all, especially because Jack’s presence and the need to cement their deception in front of him means that Kent has gone from keeping his displays of physical affection strictly to hand-holding and long hugs, and instead upped the ante to actual kisses, Kent’s stupidly big hands tucked into Bitty’s back pockets, and more lap-sitting than any pining boy should have to endure, thank you very much.

Jack’s even started staying over in Kent’s guest bedroom, the one Bitty used to occupy. And, Jack being Jack, he insisted on not driving Bitty out of the apartment on the nights he slept over, necessitating actual bed-sharing with the love of Bitty’s life.

Has Bitty spent more mornings than he can count waking up early and fondly staring at Kent’s drooling face, wishing this whole thing were real and not a gambit to keep nosy coworkers and unsuspecting first loves in the dark?

Bitty pleads the fifth, but no amount of pleading is going to change the ending to this story:

Bitty knows what it means when Jack looks at Kent the way he does, when he keeps his distance so carefully and keeps his touches brief but infinitely tender. Bitty knows because he does the exact same thing.

And even if all their friends are convinced that Bitty has the boyfriend label, there are three photographs on Kent’s bedroom drawers, and Bitty’s not in any of them.

Bitty’s photos are on the mantel where anybody can see, but that’s for show—that’s not for _real_. It’s not for keeps.

Someday soon, Kent and Bitty will end this fake relationship, and Jack and Kent will come back together, exactly the way they’re supposed to be.

And Bitty? Well, Bitty will go back to being second-best, just like always.

  
___

  
How it all ends:

Kent stands up in the middle of Sunday saltfest, turns to Bitty and Jack, and says, “Okay, I’ve had it. You two should date.”

Bitty’s mouth drops open. _“What?”_

“Uh,” Jack says, looking similarly dumb-founded.

Bitty starts, “Kent—”

“No, I’m serious, I’m—you two are fucking perfect for each other, and I refuse to be in the way any longer,” Kent says quickly. He turns to Jack, eyes serious. “Jack—Zimms. I’ve seen the way you look at Bits, and—”

Jack winces. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to—”

At the same time, Bitty says, “What the hell are you talking about? He doesn’t—wait, what do you mean you’re sorry?”

“No, it’s fine,” Kent interrupts, still looking at Jack, his voice deceptively even despite his white-knuckled hands, clenched into fists.

Jack grimaces. “It’s not fine, Kenny—I’m sorry. You should know I’d never act on my feelings—”

“What feelings?” Bitty demands, waving his hands.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Kent says, earnest. “I’m the one who’s been lying to you—Bits and I aren’t even dating.”

“Oh, my god,” Bitty says, horrified. _This_ is how they’re doing this? With Bitty in the room to witness Kent and Jack tearing their clothes off each other once Jack sets the record straight about who he’s really been staring at, and these two idiots finally confess?

Jack frowns, obviously confused. “Kenny, what are you talking about?”

“We’re fake dating,” Kent admits bluntly. “It started off as a way to get asshole Liam off Bitty’s back—”

“Oh. Liam. I don’t like him,” Jack pronounces.

“Right? Anyway, we started fake dating to give Bitty plausible deniability, but then all our friends found out because none of them can keep their mouths shut, so it spiralled into this whole gigantic mess that we decided to take advantage of, because why the hell not at that point? We were gonna break up after two months, but then you got traded to the Falcs, and Bitty selflessly decided to keep fake dating me so you’d think I’d moved on and things wouldn’t be weird between us, except now I’m telling you the truth because I’ve been watching you two fall in love this whole time, and it’s not fair that you can’t be together just because I’m a selfish, cowardly asshole.” Kent takes a deep breath and crosses his arms, ending his speech. “So there.”

Bitty and Jack are back to gaping at him.

“But you two are perfect together,” Jack says while Bitty says, “But _you’re_ in love with Jack.”

Kent blushes bright red. “Oh, my god, Bits, don’t just _say_ it.”

“But you are,” Bitty insists. ‘Don’t just say it?’ That was rich, coming from him. “And—and you’re the one who’s supposed to end up with him. _You’re_ the one he looks at. You’re the one who’s got his pictures in your bedroom.”

“Holy fuck, what the fuck is it with everybody and those pictures?” Kent groans, agitated. “I took them off the damn mantel! _Your_ pictures are there now.”

“But—”

“What pictures?” Jack says, confused.

Bitty startles. “They’re nice pictures! Back from when you were together! It’s not—not anything _illicit_. Kent just used to have them out in the open, and he only put them away because we started fake dating, but I always knew that you were the—the one who got away, and he’s so happy now that you’re back, and—and I want him to be happy because—because he’s important to me, damn it!”

Oh, hell, he’s crying now. Curse Daddy’s waterwork genes. Bitty looks up at the ceiling and tries not to sniffle.

“Bits—”

“Don’t you ‘Bits’ me, Kent Parson,” Bitty says, fierce. “I won’t let you sabotage your chance of happiness. You think I could ever be happy leaving you alone? Well, you’ve got another thing coming, because that’s not how this works, sugar, so you just—just take your false assumptions and shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine.”

A gentle hand comes to the side of his face and wipes away his errant tears. “Your Southern is showing, Bits,” Kent says, sounding impossibly fond, and Bitty squeezes his eyes further shut.

“So…you two are dating,” Jack says slowly.

Bitty shakes his head. “No,” he says, watery, “I’m just stupid in love with him, that’s all.”

Kent sucks in a breath. “Bits—Bits, oh, my god, you idiot, _I’m_ stupid in love with _you.”_

 _That_ has his eyes popping back open. “No,” he says reflexively.

Kent just laughs, that glorious, lovely laugh that made Bitty fall in love with him in the first place. “Oh, yes,” he says, taking one of Bitty’s hands in both of his. Then, “Why else do you think I wanted to fake date you in the first place?”

“Oh, my god,” Bitty says, heart racing in his chest. “Oh, my god, you idiot.”

They stare giddily at each other for a few more seconds, before a chair scraping against the floor pulls them back. “Uh,” Jack says, awkward, “I’ll just get going now. Congratulations. I’m glad you managed to clear that up. So. Yeah.” He stands.

“Wait,” Bitty says, reaching for his hand with the one currently not holding Kent’s. “What was that you said about your feelings?”

Jack looks from Bitty to Kent. “Uh…they’re kind of irrelevant now, don’t you think?”

“No,” Bitty says firmly. “We are hashing this whole mess out right here, right now—what did you mean about having feelings? Are you talking about the ones you have for Kent? Or—?”

Kent scoffs. “Bits, you oblivious heartbreaker, he’s talking about the ones he has for you.”

Bitty just shushes him and keeps his eyes on Jack, raising a brow pointedly. “Well?”

He doesn’t have to wait for long.

Jack clears his throat. “…if we’re going for complete transparency here, then I have feelings for both of you.”

Bitty grins, delighted at this turn of events.

It’s Kent’s turn to gape at them. “Wait, what?”

Jack groans, covering his face. “Kenny, don’t make me fucking say it again, it was painful enough the first time.”

“No, what the fuck—you _like_ me?” Kent bleats.

“…we’re a bit further than that, Kenny,” Jack grouses, but Bitty can see the red tingeing his ears.

He bursts out laughing. “Oh, my god,” he says, breathless with joy, “oh, my god, we’re such idiots! We’ve been in love with each other this whole time!”

“Oh, fuck,” Kent says, starting to laugh, too. “Holy shit, dude, how are we ever going to live this down? We’ve been fake fake dating for months!”

Jack finally sits back down and obligingly places his hand in Bitty’s grasping fingers. “Well,” he says slowly, “maybe you just don’t tell anyone you were fake dating?”

Kent grins at him, placing a hand against his jaw. “Babe,” he says, “that’s a great plan.”

  
___

  
Needless to say, Ransom and Holster were delighted to deliver the shovel talk, part two, though Bitty has to admit Jack’s friend Shitty nearly had them beat for dramatics and theatricality.

“—and if you beautiful, glorious motherfuckers ever need bail—”

“Shitty, please don’t,” Jack says, blushing face hidden behind his hands.

Bitty trades a grin with Kent and laces their hands together tight. He wouldn’t change this for the world.

___

**Author's Note:**

> WOOT! IT'S DONE! FAKE DATING FOREVER! FAKE DATING FOR LIFE!!! \0/
> 
> Thank you again to KARIN848 for prompting this fic, for my sister/beta G, for my fellow mods Pau, Faia, and Linnea, and for all the participants in [Polya Epifest 2019](https://polya-epifest.tumblr.com/). You guys made this event a wonderful success, and I'm truly blessed to participate. 
> 
> A HUGE thank you also to everyone who's read this work! Please check out the other works in this collection! If you like my stuff, I promise you won't be disappointed. ^^
> 
> Here's to a kick-ass 2020, y'all. Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a great day. <3 <3 <3


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